The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas
by TerraAftershock
Summary: Oneshot. An exmaid of the Kurosaki house remembers her old life, and the events that made her leave for good.


A/N: The title for this comes from a short story we read in English (ok, it's sort of a long short story that the teacher abridged). In short it's about a utopia, or a place that's nearly a utopia. To maintain their happiness and peace, they must keep a child locked in a cold dark basement, with little food, no clothes never to be let out. Sometimes the people who bring him his food torment him. That cupboard is all he knows. Everyone in the city is told about the boy, told why he's locked down there and hit and abused. Some just leave it be, because if he were let out all their happiness would end. Others walk away, never to return. It's a really interesting story, and the idea for this fic came when the teacher read it to us. So here goes.

Disclaimer: Don't own Yami, and as I said I don't own the title.

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_**The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas**_

My life in that small village in Kamakura was quite comfortable. Our house, like every house there, was traditional: wood, with paper screen walls and tatami floors. My parents had their own room, and so did Obaa-san. I shared a room with my little brothers, and we got along quite well.

In high school, I began looking for work to save up for college. The spring of my first year, I was offered a job as a maid in the Kurosaki estate. This was a great honor: the Kurosaki had protected the village since the Kamakura period, and were the most powerful family in the village.

I had never seen beyond the surrounding wall of the estate; no one had. It was huge! I was quite impressed, and I think the older maids were amused with my awe. But they knew what it was like to be in my shoes. They themselves had similar first reactions.

Nagare-sama was quiet, but pleasant. His wife, Rui-sama, seemed to live in a constant state of exhaustion. The older maids told me that she was often ill. And they were both very beautiful. Many of the maids seemed quite fond of Nagare, and to get one of his rare smiles was an honor they all strove for.

When I had been working there for a year, I began to hear noises in the middle of the night: sometimes crying, or muttering, or footsteps in the cellar. When I asked the others about it, they told me it was nothing. I didn't argue: there were many stories about a curse going about, and I didn't want to buy into it and make a fool of myself.

So I kept on working, ignoring the strange noises as best I could. But soon, I began to see things: someone practicing in the dojo when everyone was accounted for somewhere else, footprints on veranda when I was the first person to go that way. I became certain that the house was haunted. But I believed that if I respected the ghost and left it alone, it would do the same for me. After all, I had done nothing myself that earned a haunting.

The spring of my third and final year of high school, the happy life I'd known spun out of control.

One morning in mid sakura season, I was woken by one of the other maids, who seemed to be in a panic. The whole house was up, searching. I was terribly confused. Who had gone missing, I asked.

"Hisoka."

If anything, that made me even more confused. There was no one at the house named Hisoka. But I said nothing. I joined the search, even began to call for this person I didn't know.

Then, from the eastern garden, we heard a scream.

Everyone dropped what they were doing and ran to the source of the scream. And when I saw what it was, I thought my heart stopped.

A boy. In fact, the very boy I'd seen in the dojo. His yukata was stained in blood, and blood ran down his limbs into the grass on which he'd collapsed. He looked so much like Nagare-sama: blond hair plastered with sweat over vivid green eyes that stared at nothing. He seemed to be delirious, muttering under his breath.

When Nagare-sama came, the anger melted away from his face, replaced with a strange look: stolid and numb, with sorrowful eyes.. He rushed over and reached out to touched the boy's forehead.

"Iie!" the boy cried, tilting his head away from that hand. Nagare looked as if he'd been hit in the face.

He removed his jacket, wrapping it gently around the boy and lifting him into his arms despite loud protestations from the boy. Some of the maids followed him into the house. I tried to go with them, but the eldest maid held me back.

As soon as we were in the maids quarters, I demanded an explanation. What I heard shocked and horrified me.

The boy, Hisoka, was Nagare-sama's own son. He'd been born with a strange curse, the ability to read peoples minds and hearts. Because of this ability, he was kept in the cellar for both his protection and the protection of the rest of the house.

But the worst came next.

They never talked to the police. They never tried to find the madman who'd brutalized Hisoka. It was covered up, hidden away. The criminal would get away with it, all to protect the Kurosaki name.

I snapped then. It was all too strange, too cruel for me to believe that I was awake, that I hadn't fallen asleep after reading too many horror stories.

I wanted to scream, cry, lash out. I did. I lashed out at the other maids, asking how they could stand to live here, watch this happen to an innocent young boy, how they could just sit back and let this happen. I never did get a satisfactory answer.

There was nothing that could be done.

I collected the money I'd earned, the money I'd been saving for college. I packed and left, taking the first train to Tokyo I could catch. College didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. Nothing but getting away from that awful place. College seemed a decent sacrifice for escape.

I wonder now what would have happened had I stayed.

It's been six years now. When I reached Tokyo, I started to work in a hostess club, chatting and serving drinks and getting expensive gifts from regular customers. That couldn't last forever, though. I married one of the men I met there, a very kind and quiet man who works in a company that sells software. I'm a housewife now, and while I don't make as much as I did when I was a hostess, I don't miss that life. My son Daisuke is turning two in August. I'm happy here.

I now find myself returning to the past more often. I wonder what happened to that boy. Did he manage to rise above that horrible life he'd been forced into? Is he now head of the family, or did he manage to escape as I did?

Is he happy now?

I pray constantly for his happiness. Sometimes I wonder if, had I stayed, I could have helped make his life a little more bearable. But I don't have time to dabble in _what ifs_. I need to live my life. Hopefully, he can live his.

Be happy, Hisoka Kurosaki.


End file.
